OLD MR P is a born raconteur.
The stories he relates are simple, uncomplicated incidents from the early part of the 20th century and it is his air of personal enjoyment when relating his little tales which makes everyone listen to him with profound interest.
My favourite story is the one about the family who used to order their entire wardrobe and domestic needs from the illustrated mail order catalogue of the British firm of Oxindale.
"You know Dominee S of A?" Mr P asks, a big smile spreading across his thin but benevolent countenance.
"You don't? Ah well, he's only a nipper in his sixties, but his older brother and I were fellow-students at Stellenbosch University.
The family attended the Dopper Church and we used to be astounded at the suits the sons wore.
Whereas our jackets were short and our trousers long, their jackets were long and their trousers short.
'Where do you get your suits?' we asked our fellow-student once, and then he told us.
'This is my Oxindale suit', he replied, tongue-in-cheek, and went on to give further details.
'It appears that the old Oom and Tante would take up the pen once a year and laboriously write a letter to Messrs Oxindale in England.
Believing in the personal approach they would commence the letter with an affectionate
"Liewe Mijnheer Oxindale."
(They used Hoog-Hollands because they only ever read the Bible, and of course the Oxindale catalogue.
It is anyone's guess who translated their letters far across the sea.)
"It has been a year since we last took up the pen to inquire after your health.
We trust the year which is past has been as good to you and yours as it was to us.
True, there was a measles epidemic and the children were very ill, but we were all were spared, thank the Lord, and everyone is doing well now.
"Mijnheer Oxindale, here is the list of garments we require from you this year.
Firstly we need some things for Pa.
Please note that Pa is still the same size as he was last year.
Pa's suits are still alright, but he needs three shirts, six pairs of socks and a dozen handkerchiefs.
The hankies you sent before will do Pa very well.
"'Then there's Boetie's church suit.
Unlike Pa, Boetie has really shot up and if you could send us a suit two sizes bigger than last year's we'd be most grateful . . ."
On the letter went in this vein until every eventuality in the line of possible needs had been provided for.
Then with a final gentle salute and a pious wish for God's continued blessing in rest upon Mr Oxindale, the letter would end.
Pa would enclose an amount of money, and about four months later, the parcels would arrive.
"And if Boetie's trousers were a little on the short side, no one really blamed Mr Oxindale, except, perhaps, Boetie who, having outgrown his parents' simplicity, was dying a thousand deaths at University.'
Here Mr P's story ends but there's a moral to it.
If you happen to be a teenager and have begun feeling that your parents are out of touch with reality, think of Boetie and take heart.
He felt just as you do and he lived to be an octogenarian.
